Alone
by MsBinns
Summary: They were a single entity, a unit, a team. And now she's leaving and he can't even tell her goodbye. Leo Fitz learns how to be alone.
1. Chapter 1

He's always been different. He's never really had friends and it had never truly bothered him. Studying in an accelerated program meant his peer group was always older. He had his mum, of course, but even she had difficulty relating to him sometimes. He'd never truly minded. He related to continuum mechanics and evolutionary computation and that was all he needed. But then he met Jemma and she related to science the same way he did. Even more miraculously she related to _him_.

She hadn't just been a friend. She'd been his constant. She'd been like a part of him. For years it had been that way. At the Academy, at SciOps, on the Bus. You couldn't say Fitz without Simmons. They were a single entity, a unit, a team.

And now she's leaving and he can't even tell her goodbye. His mouth can't even form the word, nevertheless articulate how much he needs her there with him to help him through this. He gropes for the correct sound, trying different positions with his tongue and jaw. She knows he's trying to speak, but all he can do is futilely attempt to produce different sounds. He knows none of them are right. He knows she's waiting for him to say something.

All he can manage is her name.

The doctor told him that would happen. That involuntary phrases would be easier to say. Her name is an involuntary sound from his lips, one of the few words that comes naturally. He still speaks mostly in nouns and stringing together more than a few words at a time is taxing. Still he should be able to manage something as simple as "goodbye". and he gropes desperately for the correct sound until she can't take it anymore.

She kisses him on the cheek and turns sharply from him to exit from the room.

Then he's alone.

* * *

His schedule is still ruled by trips to the doctor, constant EEGs, MRIs and transcranial magnetic stimulation, but he spends more time in the lab. Director Coulson gives him private hours where he can busy around, look through old designs, and toy with whatever problem he wants. He never has pressure put on him, which he hates more than he loves. They all expect nothing from him.

Skye is the worst. She knew him before better than anybody else that's still around. She knows how far he's fallen, how much of a shell of his former self he is. He can tell she avoids being around him. Whenever she does find herself in his presence, all he sees when she looks at him is pity. She lies all the time too, telling him how good he's doing and how much progress he's made.

He feels like a child. Like a monkey doing tricks. They all do it, give him simple tasks they know he can do so then they can pat him on the head and tell him what a good job he's doing. He think it's more to reassure themselves he'll be normal again soon than it is him. They never give him any work that promises to be too taxing. He misses the challenge of solving real problems. His problems now lie in remembering how to say simple words, making his jaw form the right way and forcing his tongue into the right position. He misses the other half of him that always used to help him solve problems.

He wonders if Skye wouldn't have to lie so much if Jemma was still here.

And then suddenly she is. She's finishing his sentences like always and he doesn't feel quite so alone anymore. She keeps him company in the lab. She says the words he can't make his mouth form. The others look at him funny, but he knows it's just because of the halting stunted way he talks. He feels better when she's around and not so alone.

* * *

Each day he wakes up he feels like a different person, changed from the one he was even the day before. Mack tells him it's the drug therapy. He's been on so many different regimens, fiddling around with what combination of pharmaceuticals will improve his speech patterns and apraxia. Some make him nauseous, Some give him splitting headaches. Others him make him more nervous and shaky than usual.

She offers her input on all the medication. She tells him that the increased dosages of a neuro enhancer might be what is causing the tremors in his hand to start up again.

He quickly replies that the nootropic has been helping him, as evidenced by his ability to actually form complete sentences now. He speaks much more coherently when he talks to her. He is still all stammers and stutters around anybody else, but with her he can communicate.

He spins through more theories with her to explain why he is still having trouble doing something as painfully simple as brushing his teeth.

"Maybe it's just the ideomotor apraxia manifesting itself again," he says the five syllable word without so much as a hesitation, "you know because I stopped taking the Tizanidine." His friend the biochemist smiles in approval of the logical deduction and he smiles too, proud of himself. He can still reason.

"Having a conversation with yourself again?" A voice sounds from the door and Jemma disappears.

"I just...I…" Mack looks at him with amusement and Fitz finds an odd relief that it's not pity on his face. "Therapy," he stammers, "speech therapy."

* * *

They invite him into mission briefings like he's a part of the team, even though he can't contribute anything. He has difficulty just following what's being said most of the time. People jump in and interrupt, constantly interjecting separate strands into the conversation. Just as he finds the words to contribute something, the conversation quickly goes in another direction. He says nothing.

He feels useless.

Hours in the lab just remind him of how different everything is. It's not even his lab anymore. He has nobody to talk to and they all look at him funny when he's in there. It feels a bit like those first few months at the Academy.

He can see now how each treats him in their own special way. Skye still lies, but Coulson is the opposite. Coulson acknowledges what happened to him all the time. He's so blunt Fitz can see he makes the other agents uncomfortable. May never really talked to him much before so her silence isn't new, but her sighs are. She is the worst of all of them at concealing her annoyance with his condition when he fumbles for words. He still can't speak to all of them as clearly as he can talk to Jemma. Trip treats him much the same way Skye does. He gets a lot of "hey, buddy" and pats on the back. It's all done in the same condescending manner that infuriates him.

He hates everything. Sometimes it scares him how angry he gets about it all. He hates the new lab. He hates the way people treat him. Mostly he hates his own uselessness. He hates all the things he can't seem to stop himself from doing, how he plays with his hands to hide the tremors and still sees Jemma everywhere. He hates how the only way he can contribute to the team is when people speak to him in closed sentences or gesture with their hands.

Mostly he hates that everything is different and the one person who used to ground him isn't really there.

* * *

He knows now she's not here.

He had hoped it was the meds that were causing the hallucinations, but the doctors tell him the dosage isn't strong enough to cause delusions.

He doesn't know where she is. It's been months since she went to visit her parents and nobody will tell him anything. Whether she volunteered for a mission that has kept her away or received orders from Coulson, he doesn't know. All he knows is she's not here.

He says the words over and over as part of his speech therapy, working on his word repetition alone in his bed.

"You are not here."

It takes great effort each time he says it, both to form the words and to make himself believe it. Because he feels better when she's there, when he can hear her voice in his head, finishing his sentences like always.

She talks about the combination of drugs that he's on and tells him it most definitely _is_ the dopamine agonists causing him to see things that aren't there. She helps him increase his speech output and assures him how much progress he is making. He knows she's not really there, but he doesn't want her to leave. He doesn't want to be alone again.

* * *

He's never been a very good storyteller. Simmons used to finish whatever story he started to tell anyway. But Simmons isn't here. So he tries his best to regale Lance and Mack about when the bus got taken over in Peru and his mission to South Ossetia with Ward. When he tells the story he's at the center of it, disabling the device and kicking people's heads in. He describes how he fixed the electricity and befriended Marta. He doesn't even mention Ward.

"Then she uh….she…..pa - pu - per….poured," he finds the right sound and then just mimes taking a shot instead of fumbling and groping for another word.

"Drunk on a mission, Turbo?" Mack laughs.

"No, n-not…drunk."

"I got pissed on Calprinha on a mission in Brazil once," Hunter inerjects. "Before the mission actually."

"Why am I not surprised?" Mack laughs and tips back his beer.

Fitz laughs too. He likes the two agents. He doesn't feel rushed or pressured to speak with them. They don't correct his errors or try to finish his words for him. He is getting better. Gone are the days when he could only manage about five words at a time. He seems to have finally found the combination of medications that works for him. The headaches still come and he's hit with insomnia more than he'd like, but he's not so sure it's all from the medication anymore. He discovers he sleeps better when he leaves his bunk door open and when he doesn't think about her or what happened at the bottom of the ocean.

He misses her and wonders what she's doing. He wonders if she'd recognize him. Physically, he looks different. His motor skills still aren't where they ought to be and shaving and dressing himself still takes incredible effort. He's taken to not fastening his shirts or wearing ties and he keeps a permanent stubble on his cheeks to avoid the act of shaving as much as possible.

The way he used to live his life is gone. He still hasn't found a routine and everything is different. He drinks beer with men who tell him he's better off without her. He tries to get himself to believe it. He's never been much into video games, but he spends hours playing them with Mack. He doesn't say much and fortunately neither does Mack. He used to chatter on all the time about nothing and everything, but he finds now he likes the silence,

* * *

It's been too long for a normal mission. He knows now whatever assignment she is on is one of her own choosing. She chose to leave here. She chose to leave him. It makes him want to work harder than ever to recover.

Sometimes he accompanies Mack to the gym, working to strengthen his weakened right side and improve his balance. He spends hours by himself throughout the day working to increase his speech output, either verbally or written. The doctors told him writing was good therapy too so he's started doing it on a daily basis.

It's slow going. He's always preferred numbers to words, but he's desperate to continue improving so he puts pen to paper. He expresses different things when he writes. Starting off with what he ate for breakfast and the latest mission briefing and ending with how useless he feels when he sees other team members working to solve problems he still can't manage. Always he writes to her.

Despite the pleasant company of Mack and Hunter, he feels more alone than ever.

* * *

It's a simple question. One he knows he should be able to answer. He can speak now. It's not like last time. He doesn't stumble the way he did when she left, but the words still won't come.

"Fitz?" she says his name in question when he doesn't respond and steps closer to him.

He stares at her, unable this time not to form the words, but to know what word to even say. How has he been? His head spins through a million ways to respond. Miserable. Confused. Exhausted. Worried. Alone.

"Good." The lame reply is the biggest lie he's ever told her.

"Good." She rubs her arms, which are folded across her chest, nervously. "Yeah, me too."

He wants to say so much to her. All he's wanted these last miserable months is for her to be here with him in the lab. Now she's standing right in front of him and somehow all he wants is to be alone again.


	2. Chapter 2

She still tries to finish his sentences like always. It drives him mad. She fills the comfortable silences they used to have in the lab with nervous stammerings. She smiles all the time too. Too much. More than she ever used to and over useless simple things that don't warrant a smile.

She's not comfortable around him.

It's why she left in the first place, of course, but he can see now it still holds true. There is pity and sadness etched in every line of her face when she smiles and in every cup of tea she brings him.

She remembers his confession at the bottom of the ocean.

They hadn't talked about it at all before she left. His recovery then had been about basic communication and motor skills. The things he felt were not as important as getting him to hold a fork and say his own name.

He still struggles to communicate, of course, but he's not the same invalid he was when she left. He knows it will never feel like before after all that's happened, but researching old weapons schematics makes him feel somewhat useful. He can help the team now. He can contribute. It feels almost like he can get back into it, but then he'll catch her pitiable gaze.

And he knows it has less to do with the difficulties he still sometimes has communicating and more to do with the confession she'd never returned.

That's the sadness behind her smile. It's not because he still has difficulty buttoning his shirt sometimes. He thought for so long that was why she left, and he can still see her frustration with his haltered and stuttering speech. He gets angry with the way she patronizes him but he doesn't truly believe that's why she left.

It's because she knows now. She knows he's in love with her. That he loves her so desperately he'd give his life for her.

He presses her for an answer, and waits to hear her say that's the real reason she can't be around him anymore. It all comes pouring out, how much he'd missed her and needed her there beside him. It's the clearest and most coherent he's talked to anybody that hasn't been a figment of his own imagination. So he gives her the out. He waits to hear her tell him he's her best friend and nothing more, to give a real answer about why she doesn't know how to be around him anymore. Her silence is all the confirmation he needs.

So he avoids her. It takes more effort than he ever imagined. He still can't get over how short her hair is and the soft curls he's never seen before that frame her face. She looks more beautiful than he can ever remember and it doesn't make any of this easier.

He hates for her to catch him staring, but he has a hard time figuring out what she's thinking. He can't read her anymore. He can't tell if it's surprise, annoyance or jealousy when she sees him playing video games with Mack. She comments on the new pastime and Mack just informs her rather curtly that it helps his brain reform connections.

"Right. Of course. Between the cerebral portion of his brain and the cerebellar muscle memory. That makes sense." She seems frustrated that she didn't think of it first.

"Uh...sure." Mack doesn't seem to follow or care.

"It stimulates neurogenesis and neuroplasticity, which could lead to gross improvement in his cognitive function not to mention fine motor skills." She's rambling a mile a minute now in the way that always used to make Fitz smile. Now she's just talking to him like he's another project in the lab. She doesn't see him flinch, but Mack does. Every interaction with her is like this, filled with discomfort and uneasiness.

It happens most often in the lab. Mack can filter make sense of his rambling and help him contribute to the team. He can see it pains Jemma that, for the first time in his life, someone can understand him better than her. He's not sure if it should give him comfort. Part of him is secretly pleased, but part of him feels sick for thinking it. He's never wished anything unpleasant on her before.

Sometimes when he sees her he remembers the Jemma that helped him recover. She had been a figment of his imagination, but it had still been her. She'd been patient and kind and perfect. He knows if they could just go back to what they used to be she could help him. But they're not where they used to be.

* * *

They're broken. Unequivocally, completely broken and he knows deep down it will never be the same.

They avoid each other everywhere. In the lab, at meals, and every moment in between.

He sticks with Mack and Hunter mostly, which is convenient because Jemma doesn't know either agent very well. He dreads when they leave for solo missions and leave him alone. He delights when Coulson invites him on a mission to Hawaii away from her.

It's his first trip back in the field and he loves that he's working with his hands to help the team again. Somehow his first instinct when he returns is still to tell her all about it. Not talking to her feels like the most unnatural thing in the world, but he makes himself do it. He goes and has a beer with Mack. He returns to his room alone and replays in his how he'd had to dodge gunfire and help save Trip from bleeding out. He writes a letter to his mum and puts in a movie to clear his mind.

He thinks maybe this is his new normal now.

Learning how to train, research and deal with trauma on his own is good for him. Depending on someone else isn't.

Having friends is good. Having one person being so directly connected to your happiness is not.

But it's like fighting against his instinct. Part of him can't help but feel that he'll never feel like himself without her. She's been a part of his life for too long.

So he makes the decision to leave. As soon as they complete this mission to the alien city he'll remove himself from the lab. He had a whole speech planned, but it all comes out wrong and he stammers over simple words and can't even look at her. When she assures him her departure had nothing to do with his limited capability, he truly believes her. He stammers over excuses about how ineffective he would be in the lab to hide the reality that he know now is true. He's on his own. Jemma isn't his key or his backup or his other half.

He's eager to show her he doesn't need her. She might still have to help him communicate multi-syllable words, but he wants to show her first hand how capable he is without her. She touches him on the shoulder on their mission in the alien city. It's the first he's felt her touch in months. The last time he can remember was the ill-fated dinner she'd taken him to after he got out of the hospital.

It had been a disaster, he still remembers. She'd had to order for him because he hadn't even been able to hold his hand steady to point to the entree he wanted. He griped the whole time, in stammering words and phrases. She'd kept a stiff upper lip and had reached out for his hand when he'd finally attempted to storm off and leave.

Now here she is, reaching out for him again as he prepares to leave. She gives him a squeeze on the shoulder the way she always used to before a mission. He's not sure what to think of it. Part of him knows it's not patronizing because she always used to do it before he left on a mission, but he doesn't need her anymore - not even her words of good luck - and he wants to show her. She couldn't make him stay or enjoy dinner. She couldn't help fix him. She can't help him now. He's his own man and he wants to prove it.

When the world starts crumbling around them he forgets about everything. They're in an alien city and the earth is shaking and it's just instinct. He forgets about everything. His arms wrap around her and they hold each other and wait for the end.

When it doesn't end they don't let go of each other. The shaking stops, but he doesn't remove his arms from around her. For a brief moment when they break apart they look at each other and he sees his best friend again.


	3. Chapter 3

When she comes back from flooding the city he can see she's in pieces. He doesn't speak directly to her, but he learns she saw two members of her team brutally murdered and had to fire her weapon twice at the thing that attacked them. They haven't talked since the moment he'd wrapped her in his arms and he doesn't know what to say so he just reaches out to her.

He grasps her shoulder the same way she did to him before he left to plant the explosives. He wants to give her strength and let her know he's there. That things have been uncomfortable and he's not even sure they're friends anymore, but he'll always be here.

For the briefest of moments he thinks maybe they can go back to being a team. That maybe the stakes of what happened has erased the last few months.

Maybe they can learn how to be around each other again.

But when the data in his brain gets jumbled he loses all his confidence. The more he works on it, the more frustrated he gets. It's taken him months to feel comfortable in his own body again, to communicate the thoughts in his head properly and be able to work with his hands. But now he feels wrong again. He's screwed up somewhere and it drives him mad. For a moment he thinks maybe Jemma can help him correct it, but then remembers his determination to do things on his own.

He feels bad at first for feeling grateful that Skye is going through something so traumatic. But there's someone else different. There's someone else whose life is getting turned upside down, who feels like their world has ended. He wants to help her. Nobody should have to go through it alone. That feeling overwhelms everything else, even his own judgment about keeping such a huge secret from the rest of the team.

Because he vividly remembers the first time the doctor sat down and coldly and rationally explained to him what had happened to his body. He remembers how everybody was so fixated on his recovery and how he could get back to normal that they never stopped to tell him it was okay if he never did. He knows perfectly well what it feels like to be surrounded by teammates and still feel completely alone. He won't let that happen to Skye, even if it means fracturing the newly mended relationship he thinks he might have with Jemma.

He knows the look of betrayal on her face should hurt him more than it does. The pang he feels is only because for the first time since he'd woken up, unable to speak or communicate any of the thoughts in his head, they'd almost been functioning as a team again. He knows he did the right thing in helping Skye; he also knows his dishonesty hurt Jemma. So he tries to apologize to her, but she snaps at him and makes fun of his word choice.

Forthright.

A few months ago the word would have been difficult for him to come up with, nevertheless say out loud, and it makes Jemma's angry biting words hurt more than they should. So he lashes out at her where he knows it will hurt her just as much, reminding her about her own deceitful departure and the way she abandoned him. He knows the words hit a nerve because at first she doesn't respond at all. When she finally does there's scorn and disdain in her voice, which he's never heard directed toward him before with quite so much hostility.

He knows then any hope he had of reconciliation with her is dashed. There's a betrayal of trust now between them both. There have been too many unfinished conversations and unspoken words. The resentment has lingered for far too long.

So he continues avoiding her and keeping their interactions to a minimum, which seems to be what she wants too. There are brief moments when they will exchange words and settle back into their easy friendship without even realizing it. Those interactions are only facilitated by things outside of work though. It's gossiping about May and her husband or recounting a poker game with Hunter. They can't talk about work or anything related to science, the one thing that had brought them together in the first place.

The moment they do, their words become bitter and angry, loaded with resentment he knows has nothing to do with Skye's transformation. Nearly every conversation turns into an argument that alienates their team members. Sometimes when they're done yelling and hurling accusations at each other they look around and realize they're the only ones left in what was once a full room. Nobody wants to be around them when they snipe at each other.

Sometimes Skye tries to talk to him about it when he goes to visit her, but he knows it's hard for her. She's friends with both of them, after all. It's easier being around Mack, who he doesn't think has really ever warmed up to Jemma. Even Mack seems preoccupied lately though.

He tries to stay busy to keep from thinking about this world where Jemma Simmons is no longer his friend. She's become a stranger really. It's not just that they don't share science anymore or that they have different views. They've disagreed before, but he can usually understand her rationale. He knows she's scared. He's scared too. He knows better than anyone what the stakes of this job are. Jemma's fear has translated to behavior he's never seen before though. He can't recognize his best friend anywhere.

"You have to stop being so cold to her." Skye finally calls him out one day after an accidental meeting between the two in her isolation chamber.

"Cold to her? Did you hear the way she just had a go at me?" he scoffs.

"Because she's scared! After what happened to you - "

"Right, because I changed. Because I'm different." He throws his hands to the small of his back in frustration. He hates being reminded of his condition all the time. However much he has improved, he knows he'll never truly be the same and he hates when people remind him of it all the time.

"Because you got hurt," Skye challenges. "You laid there for nine days." The words hang in the air a moment. "Nine days and she couldn't do anything."

"What's that got to - "

"And then you woke up, but she still couldn't help you."

"But she did help!" It seems strange to have this conversation now, so many months later, with Skye of all people, but it feels good. "She helped me with - with...I could, you know, talk...through her and she - she helped..."

Skye twists her face around and looks to the floor uncomfortably as he continues to stammer for words.

"Are you sure you're not confusing reality with - "

"No!" He is emphatic. He knows Skye is thinking about the Jemma he had told her he imagined, but he remembers the Jemma that had visited him in the hospital. She hadn't been a figment of his imagination. He couldn't speak to her, could hardly communicate, but he understood her. He understood that, at least at the beginning, she had been there and she had supported him. "She helped."

"You couldn't be around her, Fitz. Every time she tried - "

"Not because - it wasn't - it didn't have anything to do with - "

"It's because she wanted to help too much. I get it. Believe me." Skye's eyes widen for a moment and Fitz can detect an obvious annoyance with the way Jemma has been tending to her so attentively. "But that's all she's ever wanted. All she ever wanted to do was help you."

"By leaving? By - by abandoning me? By lying to me?" The accusatory tone returns to his voice.

"Stop." Skye speaks so forcefully he doesn't attempt to challenger her again. He doesn't want to fight anymore. Not with her too.

Skye's words about Jemma stay with him. Part of him wants to continue the conversation, the one that he and Jemma never had. He'd never really heard about what she had done while he was in the coma. He'd never even asked what she told the other members of the team about why she left and went undercover. He certainly can't speak to her about it now, especially considering the hateful way their last conversation had ended, but he wants to ask Skye. If he can stay civil and explain to her why he has to know, he knows she'll help him.

When Skye is covertly moved from the base, right under his nose, to an undisclosed location, his anger bubbles up again. He's convinced Jemma had something to do with it. She's the one keeping secrets from the team now. He wonders how long she's been keeping them. For some reason he wonders if she's told anyone about the things he said to her before the water rushed in or if she has kept that secret too.

Left alone to mull over his thoughts now that Skye is gone, he looks at the notebooks that had been a part of his therapy, starting with the first few pages where he'd struggled to even write his own name. He looks at the poorly formed letters and words that turn into his slightly more legible scrawl. The first few pages are painfully short and written in halting stunted phrases. Her name doesn't appear anywhere, but he's speaking to her. They're not quite letters, but they're not a diary either. He talks to her like she's there. The same way he spoke to the figment of his imagination.

The last quarter of the notebook is just simple notes and observations on his daily work. There are no more queries to Jemma. The margins of the page don't have the same word written over and over. They're just clinical notes. He'd done that without her.

According to Skye, if he can sift through the few conversations they'd had about Jemma's departure, that had somehow been her plan. Jemma left because she believed it would help him. He leafs through the pages, still struggling to understand how lying to him could help.

Reading the pages makes him angry. He asks after her parents and tells her to say hello for him. He wonders now if she'd ever really gone to visit them. Then he tells her about how Coulson wants him to go visit his mum and how he's too afraid to call her on the phone or even write her, for fear she'd be alarmed by his stunted speech and poor handwriting. It had taken a long time to muster the courage to finally ring his mum and tell her what had happened to him. He vividly recalls what a difficult conversation it had been and knows it would have been inherently easier with Jemma there.

He flips ahead in the notebook and tries to figure out when he'd started imagining her presence. None of his entries make reference to the hallucinations that had gotten him through the months of solitude. They go through finding out she's on a top-secret mission and worrying about her to fuming at her when he reasons out that she is the one who asked to leave. There's the anger he's feeling now. It works it's way through the pages, all the things he'd never had the courage to tell her or ask. He can see it in the angry pen strokes that sometimes poke holes through the paper. All the anger, frustration and confusion scribbled on the page until there's nothing left but lab notes again. Just like there always used to be.

He closes the notebook and lets his head drop onto the desk, letting out a weary sigh. None of the most pressing questions on the pages, the same ones that have been rattling around his head for months, have answers. Skye had given him the closest thing to an answer, but he can't make sense of the convoluted reasoning where Jemma's departure somehow helped his recovery.

He had recovered though. The words on the page show that clear enough.

That had been her plan apparently. No matter how he tries to twist it, he finds flaws in her reasoning. They've always been stronger together. He knows his recovery could have gone twice as quickly with her beside him.

When he looks over the pages again and sees them transition from messy words about what he ate for breakfast to the details of a mission he'd help conduct reconnaissance for he realizes one thing. Jemma's departure had forced him to do something he'd never done before. He'd proved it to himself and to the rest of the team. He could be a S.H.I.E.L.D agent without her.


	4. Chapter 4

When he learns of Bobbi and Mack's betrayal he's sick. He runs to the loo and dry heaves into the toilet. He can't do it again. He can't keep dealing with friends who betray his trust. Then there he is facing down Mack and he summons a strength he didn't realize he had. He's done pleading or trying to get him to change his mind. Such weaknesses are what had gotten him dropped him at the bottom of the ocean. He's a different person now. This isn't up to Mack to change his behavior. This is up to Fitz to figure out how to survive.

He awakens after the blast in the custody of strangers. Jemma is beside him. They're forced to sit on the ground like children, watching everything around them collapse. He watches strangers root around his lab, his findings, his studies and he knows he should be in a rage. Instead there's a resigned sense of deja vu. He hates how used to betrayal he's gotten. He hates how cynical it's made him.

Still it helps him confirm a certainty that he curses himself for ever doubting. Jemma is there beside him, holding his hand. Their bodies are flush with each other, closer than they've been since being at the bottom of the ocean. They say nothing, but there's no need. It's like that moment when the world started to crumble around them in the alien city. The stakes are too high to be stuck on what happened in the past. Whatever lies and mistruths they'd spoken to each other pale in comparison to watching everything they know get turned on its head. Again.

The look they exchange is brief, but somehow says everything. It's over and done with. The months of avoidance and anger, the vitriol and spite are gone.

When Agent Weaver addresses Jemma, telling her how much her opinion is valued he looks at her and hopes he can silently communicate the same thing. Agent Weaver is only talking about her professional opinion and intellectual capabilities though. She means so much more to him than just an extra set of eyes in the lab. When Jemma looks to him for assurance to go help assist Weaver, he knows she's saying the same thing to him. They're back in it now. This world where allegiances seem to shift with the wind and friends quickly wind up enemies. But the two of them are a constant. They trust each other, they need each other, and they won't go through this alone.

It feels strange to finally be working and speaking together again so comfortably under the watchful eyes of these traitors. He thinks that's what they are, but he hates thinking that way about Bobbi and Mack. They've grown to become his friends and teammates. Yet he and Jemma whisper around them. They talk quietly. They doesn't want either agent to hear any of their musing or speculation. The words they do speak are careful and measured and try not to reveal too much that they actually know.

Jemma follows him to his bunk after the curt conversation with Gonzalez. He can't quite place the look on her face, but he thinks she looks impressed. Proud of him even.

"You're really leaving?" she asks quietly. Considering how much baggage had accompanied the word 'left' recently, he's pleased there's no hostility in her voice.

"I'm really leaving."

"What will you do?" He voice is even softer now and he thinks it's not just the S.H.I.E.L.D agent talking anymore.

"I don't know." He collapses onto the edge of the bed. "Go see my mum, I reckon." He picks up a small framed picture of him and his mother.

"Straight away?"

"Probably not," he shrugs. "Might travel a bit. Been forever since I've gone on holiday."

He's pleased to see, despite their months of discomfort and tension, that Jemma can pick up on the lie and what he really intends to do. She gives a tight-lipped smile and joins him tentatively on the edge of his bed.

They used to be in each other's rooms all the time. It went beyond simply falling asleep on his bed after watching a movie. His bed was her bed and her bed was his. Privacy wasn't something that had ever existed between them. The same went for their rooms and nearly everything between them. They shared everything. Sometimes when they were working on separate projects he'd retire for the night only to find her lying on his bed, waiting to hear how his had gone. This is the first time she's been in his bunk in months though. He thinks she can sense the significance of it too because she seems suddenly nervous.

"I told Gonzalez he should have made you cupcakes if he wanted you to stay," she speaks finally. He thinks he can detect a bit of pride in her voice. He can't remember the last time he'd heard that without mistaking it for her patronizing him.

"It'd take more than that," he sighs and scoots back on the bed so his back rests against the wall. "Maybe those fairy cakes you made with the chocolate buttons on them."

"For your birthday?"

"Yeah."

She dares to scoot back and join him then. They're sitting on the bed now like when they'd first been detained.

"You'll be careful, won't you?" She turns her whole body to face him, her voice thick with concern. It almost looks like she wants to reach for his hand.

"I'm always careful, Jemma," He rolls his eyes at the way she still mothers him after all they've been through, but then he can't help but tell her to be careful too. "I don't trust the lot of them."

"Nor do I." She blows out a weary sigh and doesn't speak anymore. He knows she's staying. Their team is scattered. They don't know where Skye is or even if she's okay. May has somehow disappeared into the walls. Coulson and Hunter are both MIA. They're all they have. They're all that's left of the masterful team they once were. She grasps his hand. They can't say anything further, but he knows. They'll always be a team

He still can't believe they'd pulled it off. After months without working and barely even speaking together they'd been able to communicate wordlessly and had perfectly executed their covert plan. He can't believe Bobbi and Mack didn't pick up on their veiled conversation. He guesses it's because of how they've been at each other's throats for so long. Nobody saw the few private moments that set them back on track. They think they're still at odds.

But Jemma's not afraid anymore. She's not allowing fear to cloud her judgment. She's fighting. He can see her brave beautiful heart again. He's amazed by her intellect and skill. How she'd managed to scan the surface dimensions and route the data to a multiplexer, create a mock Vibranium alloy _and_ still find the time to make him his favorite sandwich and pack his bag with the real Toolbox in it was beyond him.

It keeps him focused. If she'd managed to do all that then he can clearly do this. He's never been alone like this before though. It's not like being in the field on a solo mission. He's been cleared and debriefed. He has no one on comms, no resources. He has no idea where Coulson even is. But he has the Toolbox and he knows he can find him. Jemma left enough clues about how to bypass the biometric access points and self-destruct triggers.

He doesn't know when he'll see her again. He doesn't know when he'll see anyone from his team again. He's truly alone, more than he has ever been in his life. There's not a single friendly face nearby, in fact he's quite confident he's already being tailed.

He's not alone though. He keeps the note in his pocket, long after he's finished the sandwich. He fingers it in his hand on the flight to San Francisco, a reminder that she is with him.

He tries not to let his thoughts wander on the plane, but he can't help but wonder what they will do to her if they discover it's a fake. She's risked everything for this. He clings to the hope that if they claim to be the truer and better S.H.I.E.L.D they won't use any unsavory methods to get intel out of her. She wouldn't break even if they did. She's the strongest person he knows. He reminds himself how she'd thrown herself out of an airplane to save her team and done months undercover with Hydra. He knows firsthand her deception skillset has improved. She'll be fine.

He tucks Jemma's note into his pocket as he stands up to retrieve his second bag from the overhead. If he really is being tailed he'll need to downgrade to just the rucksack and get rid of this bag. He'll need to change clothes and at least attempt to disguise himself too. It won't need to withstand long or close scrutiny. Something simple. He recalls Jemma telling him once glases and posture were the key to any good disguise. He wishes she could be here to help him. Then he pats the pocket with her note and reminds himself that she is. She always will be.


End file.
